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In her grief (I'm supposing) she left the choice
of a stone and the placement of the plaque
to the stonemason. It's a puzzle
that the man should botch that simple job: why choose
an unshapely, lopsided stone? and then set
the plaque in violently askew?
Later, somebody in the mix
of the people using a public park -- some one
of those whose furtive doings make for
that slight, pervading taint of evil
in the air of a park: as here, over the boulders, the creek,
and trees and grassy open places -- someone
took the trouble to batter a big chunk
off that poor specimen of a stone.
So it stands there now, in a place where boulders
of all sizes abound in a variety of fi ne
rounded shapes, tablet shapes, shapes of mountains
in miniature with ledges, hollows, cliff s; and then,
a back-country peak stands over us all
down here, in our houses deep in trees, and for
situation, and shape, this peak is a match
for Fuji, I swear; and mornings, ocean air,
evenings, canyon air, moves in the trees here, it's all
a garden here, violated variously, but a garden.